


the flight, the fight, the fit

by iluvzuzu



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 19:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13841430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iluvzuzu/pseuds/iluvzuzu
Summary: Ronan picks a fight with Adam in the middle of the night. Post TRK.





	the flight, the fight, the fit

In the wintery darkness of the last night before Adam was set to return to school for the new semester, they lay in Ronan’s bed. Adam was just drifting off into a contented sleep when Ronan, his face somewhere near Adam’s armpit, mumbled, “We haven’t fought in a while.”

A jolt ran through Adam’s body, sparking from his chest and spreading rapidly outwards. Before they were a “they,” they’d fight about anything. Ronan’s tactlessness; Adam’s pride; those worn-out villains who loved to do battle. But it  _ had  _ been a while. Adam didn’t know what was coming, but he was prepared. He breathed in through his nose deeply, then out, letting the oxygen do in his body what oxygen normally never could: put out the fire. He lifted his hand to gently massage the back of Ronan’s skull, feeling the thick fuzz on his fingertips. He murmured, “What’d you want to fight about?”

Ronan scoffed and squirmed his way out from under Adam’s arm and sat up with his back to Adam, but Adam kept his fingers trailing from Ronan’s head straight down his spine. “Your haircut,” he snarked. “Or lack of one.”

Adam tried not to let this sting, but it did. He’d never been able to get regular enough trims to keep up with the precision and specificity of his peers’ hairstyles, because it meant shelling out an extra twenty dollars a month at least. Ronan knew this, which was a sure a sign as any that this wasn’t about his haircut. Or lack of one. “I’m trimming it when I get back to school. Anything else?” he prompted.

Ronan laid back down, back still to Adam. He turned his head to say, “That dumb as fuck school sweatshirt you had on,” sounding poised to continue, but Adam wouldn’t let him.

He said, “Ronan.”

“What.” He’d whipped around, and in the moonlight Adam could see the snarl on his face. Ronan had been… largely docile these days—docile for Ronan, anyhow—but some things still set him off and Adam was still finding these things unintuitive. Or, at least,  _ Adam  _ could not intuit them, because they seemed mainly to revolve around Adam’s worth to Ronan, something that Adam had not yet figured out how to wrap his mind around. But he was starting to catch on. 

_ Ronan Lynch picks fights when he needs attention. Ronan Lynch picks fights when he needs affection. Ronan Lynch picks fights when he forgets what love looks like.  _ “You can’t do this anymore,” Adam whispered. 

“Do what?” Ronan spat.

“I know you.” The words just tumbled out of his mouth. They weren’t words Adam used lightly, because they were so often used to guilt, to manipulate. But with him and Ronan, it happened to be true. “Tell me what this is about.” 

Ronan’s face was no longer angry, but still suspicious, still waiting for Adam to take the bait. “It’s about your school spirit. What was that, exactly, a badger?”

Adam would not take the bait. “It’s a bear,” he said. 

“A marten, maybe?”

“Ronan—”

“A skunk?”

Adam took the bait. “Hey,” he burst out, sitting straight up, looking down at Ronan lying in bed next to him. “I shouldn’t have to be the one who keeps my emotions in check, you know. I shouldn’t have to keep calm and ignore you just because I know you don’t mean it. You’re being a brat, tell me what the hell your problem is.”

Ronan rolled over to face away from him again. “Whatever. What time’s your fucking flight?”

“Oh.” Relief filled Adam’s veins.  _ Of course. _ “This is about me leaving.”

Ronan was up like a shot. Adam could see the sharp angles of his face in the shadows, the minimal light from the moon outside the window making his eyes look like twin blue flames. His shoulders were tense, jaw clenched. “Fuck you.” 

There it was, the conclusion which somehow always eluded Adam even though it was the same one every time.  _ Adam Parrish’s worth to Ronan Lynch. _ “I’m going to come back,” he said lowly, trying to be empathetic and understanding instead of furious, furious that Ronan seemed to weigh his feelings for Adam as any more massive or significant than Adam’s feelings for him. In the beginning of their friendship, they worked so well because they were the only ones who didn’t worry about being careless with the other; trying to take care of each other now involved constant discovery, high attention. They loved each other easily, but taking care of each other was work. With this in mind, Adam continued, “I said I would.”

Ronan said darkly, “For now.”

Adam’s moment of patience failed him. He spluttered, “I  _ said  _ I would—I’ve come back so far, haven’t I?”

“Well, sometime you’ll leave and it’s gonna be the last time,” Ronan spat. “Why not now?”

Adam exhaled in a huff, standing from the bed and rubbing his hands over his face, through his hair, back down over his face. “Jesus, Ronan,” he said into his palms. 

“Why  _ not? _ ” Ronan repeated.

They faced off with the bed between them, looking like dogs in the ring. But Adam, who had spent the last four months of his life away from Henrietta and therefore increasingly further and further away from the man he’d feared he’d be, was out of fight for the sake of his pride. He would accept the challenge that Ronan was offering him, which, at its core, was not a challenge to spar but rather a challenge to care about him. And to care about Ronan was to strip oneself raw, to expose one’s bare bones, to prove no ulterior motives, no deception, no shame. To care about Ronan was to show him something he could believe in. So Adam ripped open his chest. “This is where I fit.”

Ronan’s gaze held Adam’s for a long time before he blinked and nodded, just once, a motion so sharp and resolved that Adam felt it ripple across his skin. He exhaled. Stepping around the bed, he moved to Ronan, eyes locked. When he reached him, he simply touched a hand to Ronan’s shoulder and pulled him in, pressing his cheek hard to Ronan’s bare collarbone, his other hand resting loosely on Ronan’s chest. Ronan’s arms rose up around him, and Adam could feel the warmth of them radiating on his own skin through the thin cotton of his shirt. “I’m—sorry,” Ronan muttered into Adam’s hair. 

In answer, Adam pressed a kiss to the base of Ronan’s throat. He looked up at Ronan, and Ronan looked down at him, and as Adam smiled he watched a fire catch in Ronan’s eyes. He tilted his chin up and Ronan’s lips crashed down on his immediately, a blow Adam was always ready for, always welcomed entirely. He raised his hand to hold the back of Ronan’s neck and said, “My flight’s not ‘til the afternoon.” Ronan barked a little laugh and let Adam take control of his mouth again, let Adam pull him back to bed, let Adam put his hands wherever Adam wanted to put his hands. Sometimes, the challenge wasn’t a challenge at all; it was a gift. 

In the midst of all this, Adam murmured, “Come back with me,” into Ronan’s skin, and Ronan, true to form, replied sardonically, “In your dreams.”

**Author's Note:**

> There was an Adam/Ronan work I read a long time ago in which Adam says to Gansey, about his and Ronan's relationship, something like, "It's not a secret. It's a gift." And that line was so poignant, so in-character, so perfect, that I constantly forget it's not from actual canon. It is, it's a gift.


End file.
